CHAPTER 89: MERCY IN THE DEMON LANDS

The scent of blood hangs in the air, but Eris barely notices as she sits at a polished table on an open plain, the scorched grass beneath her boots whispering in the wind. Delicate porcelain clinks softly as she lifts her teacup and takes a measured sip, legs crossed casually.

Across from her, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, sits a captain of one of Sylareth’s strike squads. His armor is dented, his nose clearly broken, and a blazing bruise blooms across his cheek.

He tries to maintain posture, but his knees keep knocking under the table.

"Please," the captain gasps, sweat dripping down his temple. "We surrendered two hours! The fighting’s over. There’s no need to—"

From behind him, the sound of bones crunching cuts him off.

Eris doesn’t flinch. She calmly lifts her eyes from her cup and glances behind him.

"Maribelle," she calls sweetly, "how many of the four hundred do you reckon you’ve... disciplined so far?"

Maribelle stomps a thick-necked gnoll into the dirt with one steel-booted heel, planting her weight with satisfying finality. The gnoll groans, eyes spinning.

She wipes her brow and grins. "Every single one. But I made sure not to kill a soul. As per your orders, General Eris."

The captain swallows hard.

Eris smirks and turns back to him. "See? We’re being so generous."

"But... but they.... some of them..." the captain stammers.

Maribelle interrupts cheerfully, strolling over. "I’d say maybe... eighty won’t be fighting again for a long while. Maybe never. Some of those injuries were delicate."

The captain yelps.

Eris sighs, swirling her tea. "Maribelle. Why don’t you make it an even hundred."

"Yes, General!" Maribelle salutes and turns to the cowering crowd of kneeling soldiers. "Next!"

There’s a chorus of low groans and shuffling. One orc points at a hulking ogre with a trembling finger. The ogre glares at them all, then heaves himself upright and drags his massive iron club toward Maribelle.

He stops inches from her, towering above her... then promptly drops to his knees, shrieking and shielding his face.

"Quick..." the ogre whimpers. "One... hit."

Maribelle obliges with a swift uppercut that sends him spiraling like a falling log.

The captain, nearly in tears, tries to rise. "This is madness! W-We’re just following orders! We didn’t want this!Sylareth commanded—"

Eris silences him with a sharp look. "You marched into the queen’s personal domain," she says, setting down her teacup with a soft click. "That’s capital punishment in most cases. What you’re receiving here is mercy."

The captain bows his head, trembling. "She said you wouldn’t... that you’d just send us back. That we had to test you. I didn’t know—"

Eris leans forward slightly. "Of course she sent you to your deaths. She knew exactly who’d be here waiting. Me."

A ripple of power flows from her as she speaks, and the grass withers slightly beneath her chair.

Before the captain can say more, a portal of gleaming crimson rips open in the air behind them.

Krysil steps through, perfectly composed, long coat swirling around his legs. He gives Eris a graceful bow.

"The Queen requests an update," he says smoothly.

Eris sighs, finishing her tea with a final sip. "Tell her that three squadrons of Sylareth’s soldiers attempted to cross into her lands today. All have been... dissuaded.

" She gestures casually to the ruined battlefield behind her. "But I believe it’s misdirection. Sylareth isn’t attacking. She’s testing."

Krysil nods thoughtfully. "A feint?"

Eris smirks. "An annoying one. But yes."

"I’ll inform the Queen." He bows again, then raises a brow. "Also, she requests you finish up here. She has further instructions."

Eris raises her teacup in a mock toast. "Understood, darling."

Krysil gives her a smirk of approval, then vanishes back through the portal.

Eris rises slowly, brushing imaginary dust from her coat.

She turns to the captain, who looks like he’s about to throw up. "Tell Sylareth," she says, "this is her final warning."

He gulps. "Y-Yes, Lady Eris. U-Understood!"

"Good." She turns on her heel and begins walking away. "Maribelle, make it a nice, even one-twenty, would you?"

"Gladly!" Maribelle grins.

The captain whimpers.

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Back in the high tower of the Demon Queen’s citadel, Krysil kneels before Vexena, his dark coat glittering with the residual magic of travel. His voice is smooth as always.

"The troops have been stopped. Not a single one passed the border. Eris handled it personally, Your Majesty. Lady Blackthorn was with her."

Vexena lounges on her obsidian throne, one leg slung over the side, fingers tapping a golden goblet of dark wine.

"Just as I predicted," she murmurs. "This wasn’t a true attack. It was a provocation. A test."

"Indeed," Krysil agrees. "Sylareth seems more interested in your reaction than the result."

"Which means she’s watching closely," Vexena says with a sigh.

She swirls the wine, watching it darken.

"She’s smart," Vexena continues. "She dances along the edge of the law without ever stepping across it. If I raise a hand now... I risk the other nobles rallying behind her."

Krysil bows his head. "Shall we begin dismantling her support quietly?"

"No," Vexena says. "Not yet. As long as she doesn’t strike openly, I must maintain the peace. If I appear to oppress the nobility, I become the tyrant they fear."

She leans back, lips curling in distaste. "Politics. I could crush her in a moment, but my hands are bound by the promises I made. To my people. To Veena..."

Her voice trails off.

Krysil glances up. "And what of the Pleasure Prince?"

Vexena’s gaze sharpens. "Sylareth has made him her obsession. If she keeps pressing, sending soldiers, mercenaries, spies, she risks pushing me too far. The nobles will only protect her while she plays the game."

"And when she stops playing?"

Vexena smiles, revealing a hint of fang. "Then the game ends."

Meanwhile, in a secret scrying chamber far to the south...

Lady Sylareth lounges in a silk-draped chaise, a goblet of silver wine in one hand, a vision orb floating above her.

She watches as her soldiers fall under Maribelle’s strikes. She winces, then giggles. "Oh, my poor sweet fools. Did you really think I was sending you to win?"

The orb flickers. It shows Pip, golden and serene, walking through an ancient forest temple, flanked by witches and warriors.

Sylareth’s eyes glint with hunger.

"I see you, golden one," she purrs. "Every move they make... I see it."

Behind her, a new squad of mercenaries kneels, awaiting her orders, wearing armor etched with forbidden glyphs, their eyes cold and calculating.

Sylareth lifts her goblet in toast. "Soon, my lovely. Soon you’ll be mine. No goddess, no demon queen, no warlord or witch will stop me."

She sips her wine, and the orb flickers once more.

"We will be together once more, my love."